


Home for the Holidays

by inthebackoftheimpala (Wishme)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, Fluffy, Gen, M/M, MOL Bunker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:42:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/inthebackoftheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas comes home, Christmas is declared, Dean freaks out maybe a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home for the Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clotpoleLis (plantainleaf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/gifts).



 

It was November before Dean made the call and said “Come home.”

 

It was three more weeks of Dean pacing-- actually wearing a groove in one of the carpets, already threadbare from another with similar predilection-- before Cas showed up, his hair a little shaggier, face a little more gaunt, but carrying himself a little taller than the last time they’d met.

 

Gone was the blue vest, but the khakis remained. Dean might _actually_ hate the khakis, but far be it for him to say anything. He’d already asked for too much. Cas was _home_.

 

Before he’d settled on a room, Cas claimed a coffee mug and a robe, both of which he used obsessively. Each night he’d make a bed in one room, each morning strip the linens off and fold them. After a week he settled on the room at the midpoint of the hallway between the brothers, and diagonal from Kevin. By that time he’d acquired a few sets of pajamas from the drawers in the various rooms, mostly in shades of blue piped with white or navy. They reminded Dean enough of hospital scrubs that he was glad of the ratty robe Cas strode around in. Sam had tried, at Dean’s bidding, to get Cas to trade the worn robe for a different one, but Cas just hummed and stuck his thumb through the small hole in the front pocket and said, “I like this one.” And that was that.

 

It’s shocking how easy they settle in together, four not-exactly-reserved men. The ease between Dean and Sam speaks of years of close proximity, most of their arguments taking up old patterns, and Kevin has been adopted as a little brother. Sam might get a bit too much glee out of finally having a younger sibling to pick on, but they rub together well. Most days he and Kevin can be found in the library across the wide table, shoving tomes and slips of paper to each other without a word. And Cas, well, he’s been part of Team Free Will for longer than anyone else alive. Sam ribs him mercilessly like he must have his Stanford friends, and Dean and Cas still orbit each other in increasingly close proximity. They don’t touch often, but it’s a close thing, hands brushing the edges of sleeves, cups of carefully passed coffee. They don’t speak much either, communicating effectively with the long stares and head tilts of the language they’ve shaped together.  

 

One day Sam walks into the library and drops a hand on Kevins shoulder. “Just got off the phone with Jed,” he says without preamble. “He wants a consult. I figured me and shortstack can take it.”

 

“Hey!” Kevin complains without heat.

 

“And,” Sam continues, “I figured that since Jed’s nearby, we can swing by Garths and work on the archive.”

Dean’s already nodding, “Works for me. We can be back up research on this end.”

 

Bags are thrown together quickly and they’re out the door within an hour. The plan suits Cas and Dean just fine--they can take over the work on the Bunker end of things, mostly just working on cataloging the library in the system Charlie has started to put together for them. The plan is for an online database, an intranet of sorts, for the hunting world so everyone can have access to the best possible information and maybe save more damn fool hides. They’ve already started reaching out to hunters known to have good information asking them to donate their archives to the database. Along with Bobby’s library and the Bunker’s miles of files, they’d be compiling everything the hunting world possibly knows about the supernatural. It’s a huge project, but it’s not like they’re saving the world or anything. Lord knows, it might actually keep them out of trouble.

 

With the eggheads gone it’s quieter in the Bunker. Kevin makes a lot of noise for a little dude and there’s so much of Sam he can’t help but be loud. You’d think that more of than a decade would be enough time for him to get used to his limbs, but doorways continue to be the bane of his existence. Dean can’t help but quip that maybe he’d run into fewer things if he could actually see it, flicking a long lock of hair out of Sam’s face. The noogie he’d received in return was totally worth it.

 

In reality, not much is needed from the two in the bunker. It’s cold out and, let’s be real, Dean is lazy. And Dean’s side project, creating full dossiers of identification of the newest recruits to the Bunker crew just wrapped up a few days earlier. He'd had a package for each of them: passports, birth certificates, drivers licesnses-- even social security cards. Charlie made the technical magic happen in the federal and state databases, but it’s Dean who handles the hard copies. No one quite has a hand for forgery like Dean—his time spent with Frank Devereaux had been quite instructive. If he and Charlie also set up some crawlers to find Linda Tran, they didn’t tell Kevin.

 

He doesn't know of many other career hunters, most seem to do it and balance a life, but all he knows is that this career of his, this _life_ of his, doesn’t offer paid vacation. Until now. Not only that, but he can start Cas’s sorely needed pop culture education. What better to do in winter with shitty weather than sit around and watch awesome movies? They start with Star Wars, the original _thank you_ , and move on to Die Hard, a seasonal classic, in a brutal marathon.  Then there’s Star Trek I and II and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. He debates breaking out the mob movies, but figures The Godfather might have too many painful parallels. Fuck his life, man.  Dean’s eyes are scratchy and tender from two solid days of staring at a flickering TV, so he drags them both to the second-hand bookstore in town, peering through the musty stacks, buying pieces of his childhood for quarters. Cas doesn’t say much, just smiles at Dean’s exclamations over dogeared covers of _The Adventures of Tom Swift_ , watches the giddy smile that spreads across his face when he finds a set of well-loved Asimov and Bradbury to take home. These afternoons follow their own pattern, usually ending down the street at the bakery where they get two desserts and split them—Dean ends up eating half of Cas’s anyhow. He likes the way their forks rest against each other on the plate, likes the way their books jumble together in the faded plastic bag.

 

It’s only a little more than a week, but it’s weird when Kevin and Sam return and it’s lonely. Dean had gotten used to spending having Cas to himself, legs pressed together on the couch, hands caught on the same books, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders, their small jokes and smiles the only sounds, that the Bunker seems loud and crowded.   He mostly ignores the hollow that appears in his gut when Cas spends afternoons in the library talking lore and script with the others, taking it out only when he’s about to fall asleep, the sharp ache of it a reminder of who he is, what he is, what he’s allowed to have. He doesn’t let himself think about what it might mean.

 

Charlie comes by a handful of days before Christmas to finish her upgrades to their system. She’s swept up in a crushing hug as soon as she exits the dinky piece of plastic she’s currently using as a car, but everyone freezes when the other door slams shut, revealing none other than Linda Tran, which is just _nuts_. The boys are speechless and Kevin collapses on the ground in silent tears, his mom rushing over to sink down next to him, petting his hair and murmuring into his ear. Retreating to the kitchen, the others leave them alone. Eventually they find their way inside, eyes red rimmed and puffy, grinning like maniacs, and Dean just hands her a beer. Linda punches him in the arm and reaches over to give Sam a hug in thanks for taking care of her son. Turns out she’d holed up in Washington for a bit with some old family friends, helping run a restaurant. When the angels fell she realized something was up and started working her way to Lawrence. She was only a few days out from when Charlie’s system got a hit and she was found.

 

The next morning she walks into the front room and grunts at the empty, undecorated front room. She drags Kevin and Charlie with her to get proper decorations, but not before badgering Sam into agreeing to take care of the tree and declaring, “Get with it boys. It’s _Christmas_.” Twenty minutes later, Cas finds Dean in the front seat of the Impala, white knuckles around the steering wheel. Saying nothing, he slides into the front seat. They breathe together, Dean’s shuddered inhales harsh in the enclosed space. Slowly they even out to match the measured rise and fall of Cas’s chest, Dean’s eyes fluttering shut, the warmth of his best friend across the bench seat a bone-deep comfort. “Wanna get out of here?” Dean’s voice is tight and failing at casual. Cas meets his eyes in the rearview mirror, lips tipped up slightly, “Sure.”

 

That’s how they end up in the mall parking lot three hours from the bunker (because even though Lebanon might house the geographic center of the US, it has _fuck all_ else) in freaking Topeka. Because they’re apparently doing fucking _Christmas_ and Dean doesn’t know what he’s doing, having had nothing but gas station Christmases, but he’s watched enough TV to know how it’s supposed to go. Ribbons and bows and stupid plastic trinkets, he can do. He thinks. Surprisingly it’s Cas’s abject annoyance that saves the whole endeavor. They’re standing in front of the window at Macy’s and Cas emits a strangled sort of half sound. It’s a scene of an angel chorus, white gown and fluffy wings and gold trumpets—the whole shebang—all glittery and trying to be ethereal. Cas is glaring at the most prominent angel, the one announcing the Good News, brow furrowed and it’s fucking _adorable_. “What?” Dean prompts.  Cas grumbles unintelligibly and Dean cocks his eyebrow, “Didn’t catch that, Groucho. Wanna share with the class?”

 

“Not particularly,” he says and savagely takes a bite out of his churro. Dean chokes on his pretzel because there’s a disgruntled _angel of the goddamn lord_  being pissy and taking it out on a goddamn _dessert_. So, it’s about two chews into the next bite of pretzel  when it hits him that the goofy smile on his face is because of this guy next to him, newly-human and wearing his second-favorite henley, hands shoved into the pockets of well-worn jeans. The guy who drinks all his coffee and leaves the cups everywhere, who takes too long in the shower and sings a little off key, who slips across the center of the couch to fall asleep on his shoulder in the middle of the best part of every movie—this guy, his best friend, the former angel, who has somehow become as integral to his existence as his big dumb brother. _Holy shit_. He carefully finishes chewing and forces himself to breathe. _Holy shit I’m in love with Cas_.  Not that it comes as a huge surprise, because, yeah, there’d been a few guys here and there and he’d long come to terms with that, but this, fucking _this_. Well, it’s _it_. Standing in front of a stupid window display with half of Kansas around him and this is when he realizes something that should have been clear four goddamn years ago. Savior, best friend, new god, fallen angel—whatever he’s been in the past, the most obvious thing is that it has always come down to the two of them _choosing_ each other. He and Sam, there’s never been any choice about it—Cas is the first thing he’s ever chosen for himself.  And the hell if that’s not fucking _terrifying_ , but it’s the best thing in the world. His chest feels like it’s about to burst and his shoulders feel a million times lighter because it’s going to be ok. He’s got his brother and he’s in love with Cas and it’s _good_. Dean narrows his eyes at the stupid angels in the window. So, fuck you Gabriel, and the rest of your winged dicks for brothers, he’s got his angel and he’s keeping him. Doesn’t matter if Cas feels the same way or not, all Dean knows is that Cas is _family_ and he’ll take whatever he can get.

 

Breaking from his introspective non-freakout, Dean nudges Cas with his shoulder, “Let’s get this over with.” Cas nods and shoves the last three bites of churro into his mouth at once before they turn and head into the fray. Dean shakes his head, _Goddamn adorable_.

 

Gift shopping goes surprisingly smoothly. They move through aisles together, well inside each other’s space as usual. Their fingers brush when they both reach out to grab the same book for Kevin and when Dean pauses, Cas just smiles up at him, placing the book on top of the ones they’ve already grabbed for Sam. It goes on like that through the other stores, seamlessly wandering away from each other and coming back, not saying much at all, just holding up increasingly absurd Christmas sweaters. Cas wins the contest when he finds one with a rather fat and disgruntled looking sheep dressed as Santa. Dean laughs so hard his eyes leak and Cas grins up at him like a loon when Dean throws his arms around the other man’s shoulders to stay upright—they walk out of the store like that. A clerk folding ties watches them go and sighs. The cute ones are always taken.

 

They’re almost to the exit when Cas stops short. “Dean,” he says urgently. “We need to split up.”

 

Dean’s heart jumps into his throat and he croaks, “What?”

 

Cas rolls his eyes, “I don’t have a gift for you.”

 

Dean just blinks at him.

 

“It’s customary for gifts to be a surprise,” he explains patiently. “I need to get one for you and you can’t be there.”

 

Dean can breathe again and man is he an _idiot_. Of course Cas means for shopping, not for that other thing because he and Cas aren’t _anything_ so they can’t split like that and _wow, Winchester_. He realizes he’s been silent for a moment too long and clears his throat, “Right. Right, ok. Meet back here in 30?”

 

“Excellent.” Cas nods, “See you soon.”

 

He trots back the way they came and Dean watches him go.

 

Back in the car he lets Cas put Christmas carols on the radio and he doesn’t complain once. Ok, maybe once, but that Christmas Shoes song is _bullshit_ , Dean doesn’t care what anyone else says.

 

Night falls on the road and the sky is crystal and bright with the full moon. The silence of the last few miles of the drive is comfortable and Dean basks in the way they just _are_ together. He’s not the righteous man, he’s not the older brother looking out for his brother, he’s not a hunter, he’s just Dean Winchester, _whoever that is_ , some amalgam of all those, plus a few other things. But Cas knows all of that, has been a part of most of it, has his own baggage too, but he _knows_ Dean like no one else and he’s still here. And Dean _knows_ Cas, all the self-destructive tendencies and pure stubbornness, traits he shares. And here they are, just being. Two guys in a car together, heading home.

 

Dean parks the car and sits back in his seat for a minute.  Something is in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t know what it is. Cas reaches over and squeezes his hand. “Thanks,” he says before grabbing his bags and sliding out of the car. Dean follows, his hand curling into itself as if to hold on to that warm press, yelling into the hallway when they step inside, “Sammy! What’s for dinner?”

 

Cas rolls his eyes and Dean grins shamelessly. His life is pretty good.

 

 

He’s up with the dawn the next morning, made breakfast and taking his coffee out back to look over the slight hills. Some mornings are like this and thankfully no one bothers him, keeping their voices low when he returns to the bunker.  He’d be annoyed but he appreciates their concern. He’s in love with his best friend, Linda Tran is alive, and they’re celebrating Christmas—he’s allowed to have a bit of an emotional hangover from the previous day. But, really, that sort of shit is par for the course for the Winchesters at this point. Which of them hasn’t come back from the dead at this point, really? More pressing is the fact that he doesn’t have a present for Cas. Nothing at the mall held any interest. The guy barely wears any of the clothes they bought for him to start with, preferring to dig into Dean’s clean laundry when he can, which thrills Dean more than a little. So, clothes were out. And what use does Cas have for an iPod or radio when they have a huge record collection already? The only thing he can think of is more books, maybe from the place in town. But he already has a handful of towering stacks perched on the floor of his room to read. _That’s it!_ Dean rubs his hands together, _brilliant, Winchester_. _You’re brilliant_.

 

The bookcase is plain, but sturdy, made from boards Dean ripped from the broken down regulation desks in one of the storerooms— the ones with broken legs and cracked frames. It matches the desk in Cas’s room and Dean thinks he might have enough wood left over to make some matching wall-shelves like he has in his own room. He’s more than a little proud of himself, even if he’s sore and tired from dragging the damn thing to his room in the dead of night to keep it a surprise. His room is one of the few places Cas doesn’t come into uninvited and he can keep him out for a few days without it becoming too obvious that he’s hiding something. Excitement quivers in his gut and it’s all he can do to keep the surprise. He wants to tell Sam, but more he wants it to be a complete surprise, so he keeps his mouth shut, funneling his energy into needling his Sasquatch of a brother even more than usual.

 

Christmas Eve arrives in a flurry of a massive snowstorm. Which means of course, after a good breakfast, they all end up outside in as many layers as they can handle. Kevin and Charlie spearhead the snowman building, directing the others to help pack the snow into shapes that are vaguely spherical. Naturally, Dean starts it, lobbing a softly packed handful of snow at the back of Sam’s head. Rocking back with a yelp, Sam shakes his head, sending flecks of snow _everywhere_ and it is _on_. It’s every man for himself and snowballs are flying. Kevin takes cover behind the largest of the abandoned snow man pieces and builds a small arsenal before lobbing them with an apparent strategy of just constant barrage at Sam and Dean. The brothers of course are dashing around, ducking behind the trees, tripping each other, Cas keeping pace, getting his licks in where he can. Linda Tran cackles at the sidelines, fully appreciating the apparent unspoken “no hitting the mom” rule. Dean steps out from behind a tree and gets snow full in the face. He gasps, and the culprit makes the mistake of stopping to hunch over laughing. “You should have seen your _face_ ,” Cas crows.

 

Dean shakes his packed snowball like a fist. “You’re going to regret that,” he says and sprints after his friend. Weaving through the trees, he picks up speed as they enter a clearing, launching himself bodily at Cas, pinning him to the ground. Still laughing, their chests heave with exertion, cheeks flushed and noses red from the cold. Snow flecks Cas’s eyelashes and dusts his hair and Dean’s mouth goes dry. The laughter peters out and they’re staring at each other much like they often do, but this time Cas is just looking up at Dean, smiling softly and he can feel the line of Cas’s legs strong and lean against his own, their chests pressing together with each breath. Dean’s eyes flick down to his friend’s lips and his tongue darts out to lick his own. He feels a hand tighten on his hip and Dean’s eyes jolt back up to meet Cas’s and it’s perfect because Cas is looking at him like he’s never seen him before. His breath hitches and he leans just a little closer, their eyes still locked, breath intermingling, and they’re _almost_ there. And then everything is fucking _cold_ and they’re both covered in a _shit ton_ of snow, dripping down their necks into their shirts and down their pants, and Sam and Charlie are howling with laughter. He and Cas gape at each other before nodding and launching themselves at the other two. It is _so on_.

 

It takes both of them to tackle Sam and rub his face in the snow and Charlie escapes by hiding behind Linda Tran and negotiating hot chocolate as a peace offering. They accept and everyone trudges inside, leaving a heap of sopping clothes by the door. Dean has never been so glad for the seemingly endless supply of hot water; he’s never been so aware of the man in the next cubicle; he rubs his skin raw.

 

Charlie makes good on her promise and makes some killer hot chocolate. Dean puts on some coffee as well and they arrange themselves across the sofas to watch the old school Rankin & Bass Christmas movies. Naps are necessary and Kevin drops of first, but they all drop off, one by one, lulled by the warm drink and company. Sometime later Dean wakes to find Sam leaning against the doorframe, looking at him with a misty expression. He’s confused until he realizes the weight on his chest is Cas, sprawled across him, head tucked under his chin, Dean’s hand curled possessively across the small of his back. He swallows and looks back up at his brother. “So it’s like that?” Sam asks. His first instinct is to scoff and deny it, but he looks down again and breathes in the scent of mint shampoo and _Cas_ , and this is _Sam_. He’d do anything for his brother, even take a stab at the happiness Sam seems to always badger Dean into thinking about and that, frankly, has been to terrifying to contemplate. But that was before.  Taking a deep breath he looks up and murmurs, “Yeah, it’s like that.” And, because his life is insane, Sam grins and says, “Fucking _finally_ ,” before leaving the room.  A huff of laughter ghosts across his lips and Cas shifts, muttering into his chest. Arms tightening around the man sprawled across him, Dean slides back into sleep.

 

 

He wakes up alone the second time, Kevin poking him in the forehead. He swats the hand away and Kevin just says “Dinner.” Grumbling, Dean hauls himself up, a little disappointed to find himself alone. Everyone is already in the kitchen, food arranged artlessly around the spare surfaces. The seat next to Cas is conspicuously vacant and Dean snags it, eyes sneaking over to find Cas smiling at him. He rolls his eyes and digs in.

 

They eat too much, Charlie groaning how she’ll never fit into her royal gowns for the next war after this. Kevin looks like he’s about to fall asleep into the half-eaten mountain of mashed potatoes still on his plate, and even Mama Tran has to adjust her belt. Waving them all off to the front room, Dean starts the dishes. Someone puts on the Andy Williams Christmas album and the strain of “White Christmas” echo down the hallway. Hands appear at his elbow to take the clean plate and it’s Cas, wordlessly taking up the towel to dry. They work in silence, listening to the sounds of their friends and Christmas music in the other room, bumping shoulders and smiling to themselves. The last dish done, Dean turns to wipe down the table when a hand snags his own. Looking at where Cas’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist, Dean stills. Cautiously he looks up at his friend, who rolls his eyes and crowds him against the edge of the sink. So close Dean can feel the breath of each word, Cas says, “Dean Winchester, you are _impossible_ ,” before pressing their lips together. After a nanosecond of panic, everything in Dean jumps aboard the _thank fuck_ train and he drops his hands to grip Cas’s hips. The other man groans at the contact and Dean takes advantage of the moment to lick his way between the gently parted lips. Cas’s hand fists in the hair at the base of Dean’s neck, changing the angle just enough that they’re pressing together in a clash of long-denied need.

 

A whistle breaks them apart, but it’s just Charlie at the door. She waves her mug at them with a sly grin, “Don’t mind me, boys, just here for more nog,” before grabbing the entire carton and scampering out to no doubt tell the _entire world_. Laughing, Cas rests his forehead against Dean’s. Strangely, Dean thinks it’s even better than the kissing and the kissing was fucking _stellar_ , but Cas is in Dean’s arms and his hands are carding through his hair and he’s dropping small kisses on his nose and cheeks. It’s too much so Dean dips down to capture Cas’s lips again, trying to convey all his mixed up insides. Cas seems to get the message just fine, dropping one last chaste kiss before taking him by the hand into the front room to their friends. Dean doesn’t let go of Cas’s hand.

 

 

 

He can’t remember much of the Christmas morning gift exchange, his stomach in knots until Cas picks up his present. Lightheaded, he watches Cas lift the lid of the box and pull out two books from his new favorite series and a wood chip. At the arched eyebrow, Dean laughs tension abating. He holds his hand out and Cas sets the books on top of the new laptop Charlie and Sam had given him, letting Dean lead him down the hallway. Dean doesn’t even get to explain the gift, Cas just zeroes in on it and then Dean is up against the side of the bookcase being kissed soundly.

 

The bookcase ends up staying in Dean’s room.  Or, rather, their room since Cas officially takes over half of Dean’s drawers and most of Dean’s bed after that.  He’d never admit it, but he thinks he’d left that one wall in his room bare for so long in a subconscious hope that Cas would make it his, as he quickly does. Cas’s ratty robe hangs next to Dean’s on the back of the door, his favorite coffee mug making rings on the nightstand most mornings. Dean builds him another bookcase and some shelves for Cas’s old room, which is now Cas’s office. The second one is better made, but Cas prefers the first, making a show of organizing all the books they’d picked out at the second hand store on the shelves and carving Enochian he won’t explain into the edges. Cas sleeps in his old room some nights, which would bother Dean more if he didn’t wake up with an armful of boyfriend every morning anyhow. He’s glad Cas has his own space, is creating his own life outside of Dean and their room, that he has his own hobbies and patterns. After all, Dean has the Impala and the rest of the garage to retreat to. Sam teases him about becoming an adult and Dean can’t do anything but smile into his coffee and head out to join Cas on the porch. He presses a kiss to Cas’s check and lets him steal his cooling coffee, looking out over the melting snow.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!
> 
> For Lis.


End file.
